


Wish List

by homosociallyyours



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Dancing, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 05:16:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5696419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homosociallyyours/pseuds/homosociallyyours
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John and Sherlock each make a wish list for a gift exchange, Sherlock's list reveals more about his heart than he might have wanted. Fortunately, John is ok with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wish List

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit of sweet, Christmas-y fluff, written for applesini.tumblr.com as part of the Sherlock Secret Santa gift exchange. It's later than intended, but hopefully it's enjoyable nonetheless. 
> 
> And if you happen to catch any problems/errors or enjoy yourself immensely while reading, feel free to let me know in the comments!

Snow swirled outside the windows of Baker Street as Sherlock downed the last sip of his tea. "I don't see the point of writing out a 'wish list' as you call it. It's not difficult to determine what a person wants if you observe them closely enough," he yelled from the couch. 

John walked back into the room carrying two pens and a notepad, shaking his head. "It may be obvious to you, but the same doesn't go for the rest of us, me included." He tossed a pen to Sherlock, who caught it without moving from his reclining position. "Besides, you're the one who wanted in on the gift exchange." 

"Yes, because I thought I'd get the chance to deduce what each of you wanted and then surprise you all at the party. Not because I wanted to make a list of wishes," Sherlock said, shifting against the couch cushions. John gave him a withering look and he groaned, hoisting himself up. "Fine. It's wish list time," he trilled. 

John rolled his eyes, but his amused laughter made it clear he was more fond than annoyed as he started writing his own list. Two minutes later, his focus was broken by Sherlock sputtering beside him: "But you've already watched the Bond films!" He grabbed the list away from John, standing up and pacing off to read it. 

"Jumper. Fit Bit? A new journal?" Sherlock waved the paper in front of John. "You don't honestly wish for these things, do you?" 

John sniffed, his face flushing red with annoyance. "Give that back, yeah? Like your list is so great," he said, sliding Sherlock's list toward him. "Let's see." 

Sherlock nearly pounced on him, trying to get the list away, but he wasn't successful. "An unlimited supply of body parts, available at all times," John began as Sherlock frowned in protest. "Giving John more dancing lessons. Every case is an 8 or higher. John comes back to Baker St, permanently." John looked up at Sherlock curiously. 

"Yours is different," Sherlock said, still holding John's list. "In retrospect I may have deleted this particular Christmas tradition." 

"It's more of a...gift list. It's unlikely most of these could be granted by anyone coming to the party." John glanced back down at the list, finger trailing over the words. "One or two, yeah," he said quietly. 

"Which?" Sherlock replied quickly. 

"Not the cases, I'm afraid. But I didn't retain much in the way of the dancing lessons we had. Suppose that one could be worked out. And...I'm back here most of the time. I could make it more permanent." John hesitated, and Sherlock pursed his lips, grabbing his list out of John's hands.

"Not necessary, John. Wishing doesn't make things so." 

John shrugged. "True enough. But what if I wanted to come back?" 

Sherlock turned away from John, staring into the kitchen. "If you wanted to," he began to say, before spinning back around to face him, “I'd know it." His gaze focused on John, taking in his posture, his face, and the unraveling thread at the hem of his jumper. John: smiling, slightly, as if amused. Shoulders relaxed, at ease, comfortable yet attentive, leaning forward. Emotionally invested, present. Unhappy not living here. Circles under his eyes. Clothing not kept as meticulously as it had been when he was here. 

John cleared his throat. "Sherlock. You've been staring at me for the past two minutes. Say something." 

"You," Sherlock said, clapping his hands together decisively, "want to come back here." A smile spread across his face. "You want to come back to Baker Street." 

"Yeah," John replied. "Yes, I would." He wet his lips the way he always seemed to when he'd done something that made Sherlock happy, and it filled Sherlock with the unusual desire to kiss him. Without hesitating, Sherlock strode toward John and put his hands on either side of John's head before leaning down to kiss him squarely on the forehead. 

"You're coming back to Baker Street!" he said as John blushed beneath him. He realized he'd not yet taken his hands off of John's head, and he wondered absently if he should until he felt John's fingers close around his wrists and pull until his hands were in John's. 

"I'm coming back here," John said slowly, "to be with you." He looked up expectantly, unsure of what Sherlock's reaction would be. 

"With?" Sherlock asked. "Me?" He tried to parse the meaning, but it didn't make sense. John couldn't mean...

"It doesn't have to be anything...physical," John said, loosening his hold on Sherlock's hands without releasing them entirely. "But this is where I'd like to be, and you're the person I'd like to spend most of my time with." 

"Physical?" 

"Sex, it's not. I'm not saying we need to have sex," John said. "Or touch more, or any of that. I'd--I've just missed you, missed being home with you. Here. Us." John let go of Sherlock's hands. "Maybe I've misunderstood what you were hoping for." 

"Wishing," Sherlock said absently. 

"Sorry?" 

"Wishing, it's different from hoping. Wishing doesn't come true." 

John tilted his head, eyes full of unspoken questions that he hoped Sherlock could read from his look. Sherlock looked down at him for a long moment before turning away, and John, frustrated, finally spoke. “You wish for me to move back. Which means you also want it, right?” 

Sherlock nodded, body still turned away from John. 

“So...what else do you want? Or not want?”

Sherlock’s mind raced through a catalog of things he wanted with John. The moment, just passed, of wanting to kiss him. A hundred more like it. Hands: touching, holding, reaching. Dinners, breakfasts, lie-ins. In bed. Together. Sex? Unclear. But more possible than it ever had been. Dancing and laughter. So much more than just John living upstairs. He swallowed hard, turning around to look at John. 

“More,” he said. “Somewhat more than when you lived here previously.” 

John nodded, waiting for Sherlock to continue. “Such as?” 

Sherlock floundered for a moment, his thoughts and desires too much to say out loud. Shutting his eyes, he slowly extended his hand to John, hoping for a response. When John’s fingertips brushed his own, he opened his eyes. “Holding hands is an excellent start,” he said nervously. 

John huffed in appreciation and tugged Sherlock closer. “So, I’m moving back in and we’re holding hands. Yeah?” 

“Yes,” Sherlock replied, biting back a smile. 

“Possibly more, if you can ever get out with it?” John asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“I’m sure I can manage it,” Sherlock said. “Eventually.” 

John shrugged. “Moving slowly doesn’t bother me. At least not here. But I seem to remember you talking about wanting to teach me the foxtrot. That’s a bit fast, isn’t it?” 

Sherlock pulled John up to standing and smiled. “Right you are, John. So, shall we dance?” 

“I’ll follow your lead,” John said, “but I might need a waltz as a refresher.” 

“I’m certain we can arrange that,” Sherlock said, taking John’s hand in his. He counted out their first dance, John picking up the steady 1-2-3 of the waltz as if he’d never forgotten Sherlock’s instruction. When they’d been dancing for a couple of minutes, Sherlock gave John a turn and then spun him into a small dip. When Sherlock righted him, John leaned in and kissed him softly, just at the edge of his lips. 

“With music, this time?” John asked as he pulled away. 

“Yes, and we’ll work on the bit at the end, too,” Sherlock said, moving toward the stereo. 

“What, the dip? I thought I did that part fairly well, actually.” 

The music started and Sherlock returned to John, settling their bodies into position. “I meant the kiss,” he said, starting the waltz with a slight nod of his head. John smiled back at him, moving in time with the music.


End file.
